


Two Worlds Colided

by Notasmuch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Inanimate Object, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam's life and relationship through the eyes of the Amulet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Worlds Colided

**Author's Note:**

> The Character Death is, of course, temporary, except for John.

Fire. All he knew was fire. Burning around him, inside him, shaping him. A whispered chant, each word ripping a piece of him away, than building him whole again. Better, stronger, powerful.

Sometimes he was touched. Callused fingers with live blood moving under the skin. The sweet hum of it making him spread out to the touch, his power like a raw wound being soothed with salve.

Through those fingers, through that blood, he felt connected to the world, and more, to the universe. As if every atom and every molecule greeted his existence and welcomed his power. He was alive. He was sentient.

Then he would be alone again, left waiting and hoping.

The first time he was placed to rest over someone's heart, pleasure overtook him, so powerful and blinding he thought the metal that made him might break. With effort and patience, he got it under control, until he could reach out tentatively, to the blood, the beating heart, and spread all through the body with the live flow that carried him.

The man's dreams and hopes, loves and pains, became his own. Every touch to the outside world the man made, brought him closer to being a perfect part of the universe, until he could no longer tell where he ended, and the man and 'else' began. He was complete.

The first time he felt life drain from a man left him weak and afraid. His power was sucked out of him, and he gave freely, to save his man, to save them both. But he wasn't enough. His power, that he reveled in so much, was a tiny speck, useless when it really mattered.

So when, after a long time of knowing only the fire inside him again, he was placed over another heart, he refused to give of himself, or to take. No chanted words or fists wrapped firmly around his metal body would coax him out again, just to leave him empty and scared when it was over. It was a promise he made to himself, and for centuries to come, he kept it.

Until one day he woke up engulfed in innocent, hopeful love.

A flash of touch. A caress. Another brief touch. Never long enough to immerse into it, break through the skin. Not that he really wanted to of course. He was just curious. Just wanted to check, to see what it was about that love that reached out to him, instead of waiting to be found.

But those fingers wouldn't touch him again for many years to come.

The hand he was laid into instead, radiated the same kind of rebellious love, demanding and alive, but more controlled, mingled with linings of fear. It was more hopeful than the gripping strength the first child had.

Still, he had been placed, through ages, in many a child's hand. But nothing ever called to him like these two had.

And foolishly, he let himself feel again.

**

He was frustrated. Not that it was new. But this time his limit was approaching with terrifying speed.

From the second his metal touched the Boy's skin, before he even broke through and felt the Boy's blood as his own, one word was branded into him with the force of steel. Sammy.  
At first he thought it was the boy he belonged to, but he learned soon it was the first one instead, the one who woke him.

And the word that followed that one, the word he would get intimately acquainted with, was 'no.'

No to touching.  
No to feeling.  
No to expressing.

No to anything that was wanted or needed or craved. As if the only things allowed were the ones completely opposite of what was really felt.

And that's why they were here, again. Stuck between Sammy and No.

Because Sammy was shivering, almost crying with his head bowed, and the Boy stood above him, saying stupid things, taunting, making it worse, instead of doing what he really wanted. Reaching out and comforting.

He knew the Boy's fears and reasons. He felt every pain the boy had dealt with as if it was his own, every rebuttal as his own failure. He knew everything the Boy did.

But the Boy knew nothing of what he knew. And he was certain, beyond a doubt, that Sammy wouldn't scorn, wouldn't mock. That the Boy's heart was safer in Sammy's hand than even his own.  
The Boy didn't know that though. Instead he kept saying words he didn't mean, covering up his own insecurities, crushing the one thing in the world that brought them, both of them, undistiled happiness.

It was when Sammy's head bowed even lower under a particularly vicious word, when pain coursed through the Boy like it hadn't since he broke his arm, and he still wouldn't stop, it was than that his power surged, fueled by anger, and he realized, amazed, that he forced his Boy to silence.

A beat, and another, and the Boy fell to his knees, as if all of his strength was taken along with the words. Another, expected, flare of pain as Sammy flinched when the Boy touched him, but then Sammy looked up, to the Boy's lost eyes and they both relaxed, taking the love that came with the comfort.

He felt as if his powers were crackling. It was always like that when the boys touched, but made more powerful now, with the love flowing freely between them, like a living thing. He heard gentle words, promises of the father's return, promises of everything being all right soon. Hopeful lies.

But he was lost in his revelation. His powers had a use, almost a purpose. He could stop being a passive observer and somehow, sometimes, help.

**

The Boy didn't know. Despite his vast knowledge of all things magical, his own emotions were such a mystery to him a tiny manipulation every now and then could go by completely unnoticed.

That was how, with years, some things became a tiny bit better. A fraction of what was the Boy's wild inner life had breached the surface. A touch here and a soft word there. Just when he felt it was absolutely needed. When he felt the Boy would lose more by staying away than reaching out.

With time, the Boy learned to trust Sammy with his kindness. And when they touched, Sammy's love would do what came natural to it and grabbed the Boy's love and held it tight, just like it needed to be held. Then for a moment he would be connected to them both, and he knew they were never as peaceful as they were then, held together by a power they still couldn't understand.

It was in those moments of perfection that he felt it grow. The need for more, and then confusion. First in Sammy, then in his Boy.

Sammy, he would question it lightly, then wrap it up in sadness and let go of the hold before he could feel more.

But the Boy raised a wall that consisted solely of No-s. A thick, tall, impervious wall, that somehow failed to stand ground over and over again. So the Boy raised more and more walls, thicker and stronger, and when they failed too, the Boy stopped doing what brought the unease on in the first place.

No matter how hard he tried, the boy walked them away from Sammy. First time almost breaking half way through and going back, but holding on anyway. Then again, and again and a dozen times more until it became almost easy. Until the pain is Sammy's eyes became a permanent fixture and the Boy's ignoring it became as natural as breathing.

Sometimes, when it was necessary they stand close, or touch, or talk, he felt Sammy's love crying out, reaching to hold just one more time, begging, and the Boy's love would try, against all odds to answer, to come closer, but the two boys stood firm, like enemies, waiting for the final blow.

When it finally came, he wasn't sure which of them he should blame, the one leaving, or the one doing nothing to stop him.

It was a pain so strong he almost wished the Boy was dying instead. It wasn't about Sammy leaving. They both knew moving was as much part of their lives as fire and air. They never stopped moving.

It was the Boy's decision. Another No he placed in his life. To not go after Sammy until his feelings died and his need disappeared. He knew it couldn't happen, their love was more powerful than either of them could understand. And he saw the years that would come, the loneliness and the pain and the regret.

He tried, then, for the last time, to make the Boy say the words, give what he felt Sammy's love reach for from across the room. The Boy sliced open his palm with a shard instead and went to clean it. When they came back, Sammy was gone.

**

In many ways, the boy grew to be a man. Strong and brave, a kind warrior and a beautiful sinner.

In some ways though, he was still just a boy. Hopeful but scared, needy but closed off. The father's strong presence never gave him what he wanted, and yet his absence took away so much.

The Boy met different people. Tried to love them the way he loved Sammy. He thought any of these people, strangers, lovers, the father, could reach his love just like that. He thought his love was an easy thing to share. So the Boy gave them all the things he had eventually denied Sammy. Touches and kind words, consideration and care. He gave them everything of himself. But the love wasn't his to give.

In the end, the Boy turned to him.

Every day before sleep, the Boy's fingers would curl around his metal body and seemed to demand the love Sammy took when he left. He tried to give it, moving his power to where the Boy needed it most, feeding the hungry places the best he could, until he was exhausted and weak himself. It was never enough. It never would be.

Eventually he started spending days drowsing on the skin over the Boy's heart. The love that once pulsed around him had settled somewhere too deep for him to reach. The Boy stopped demanding anything, and even the surges of adrenaline the hunting caused couldn't wake him up from the slumber.

This shell the Boy had turned into was like any other he had settled with through centuries. It wasn't worth staying awake for, and he knew the pain would only grow until it turned into bitterness and resentment and every evil feeling out there.

He extracted himself from the Boy slowly and waited until this man left him and some other found him, like they always did.

**

That is why he didn't expect to wake up soon again, didn't expect for his powers to be pulled and stretched until he almost burst into a million pieces when the Boy had them crash into Sammy.

Happiness and touching, the loves they kept tucked away crashed together, gripped and stroked and held, even as the oblivious boys talked like it hadn't been forever since either of them knew how to feel.

He let it wash over him, made up for the lost time as the sensations tickled his metal surface. The energy was like a touch. How could he be the only one sensing it?

From the pain came hope and rebirth. The men were healing one day, one secret at a time. His help was no longer needed. Dean, the man who used to be the Boy, and Sam, the man who used to be Sammy, were learning to love each other again.

In the car, on the road, his metal would heat up from the outside, the music gave out vibrations he couldn't understand and the universe moved too fast for him to enjoy it.  
But now he had the soft blanket of two loves finally united to keep him happy. They spent days sipping on his power, using it to twist into a knot so tight no one could ever untangle it. They made Dean reach out when Sam left again. They made Sam come back. They were determined and desperate and now, thanks to him, powerful.

**

More fire. A sacrifice was made. A life for a life for a life. As the father burned the boy wept, father's secret weighing on his soul.

Rage and fear exploded, but still Sam stayed.

The truth came out and Sam came back.

Every day in Dean's life was marked by Sam, and to live in Dean's blood and feel the pull of need and want all the time, just to be denied over and over again made him as frustrated as he had been the first time he forced the Boy to silence.

He found an image in Dean's head, one that made him bite his lip and walk out to refuse, and, with some help of lust and want in Dean's body, made it the most important desire ever.

When Dean's lips pressed against Sam's neck and the tongue tasted, like Dean had wanted it to, there was a heartbeat of complete calm.

Then everything within the men surged into action and sound. Lust and want took deep breaths of contentment and need whimpered softly in satisfaction.  
The two loves seemed to be ripping at each other, opening the other to get in deeper, to cross to the other body.  
Years of No-Walls in Dean's head crashed with a painful scream and shouts of victory could be heard.

He could feel Sam now too; and in him, the much louder hum of blood was racing in joy as mist cleared from his own desires and his own lust rubbed sensually against the other's.

For the men it was but a few seconds. A taste, a whimper, permission. But inside them, years of waiting finally came to an end.

**

The universe was at odds with him. Wind and water and fire were promising to feed him their power if only he stopped Dean. They begged and threatened and explained and begged some more. But he wasn't just he any longer. He was a part of two, and a piece of himself was missing too.

 _It had taken him a while to realize the boy hadn't died. That the fact that he talked and breathed meant that he had in fact lived, even if everything relevant inside him certainly passed away._

 _The love in Dean seemed to be bleeding, its beautiful shivering energy completely gone. He couldn't feel anything whole in the man. Anything working aside from the flesh. The blood itself had wanted to stop flowing, but couldn't._

So when the man made the deal, promised his very self in return for another year, he just pulsed with hope. A year of being whole was worth more than centuries of universe being pleased with him.

**

He felt loved. Under the fingers that caressed him now was more than just life. There was love too. For him. He drank it in, reveled in the knowledge that he was special. In these men's life, he was important. A thing to care for and touch admiringly.

Then he was pressed between two hearts, his power remembering and surging into both at the same time. He was pulled apart with pleasure, then slammed back into one when he could no longer stand it.

He felt like the center of their world with their loves and lusts and wants and now even their bodies all gripped tight around him.

When their bodies joined in more than skin his metal caught into their flesh, wanting to participate in the sharing. He never felt so much a part of anything as he did when they were together like this. He was a gift, but he was also being gifted, with these two lives.

He knew passing of time would change things. He knew pain was coming. But this moment, now, could be enough.

**

He heard Sam's love howling in desperation even as the power was drained from him and Dean. He couldn't comfort it, could just feel Dean's love being forcefully ripped from its hold, only traces remaining, like a brush on the shoulder from a stranger. Last thing he felt before he was too drained was Sam's tear falling on him.

**

The heart beat strong. Blood had the power of the ocean.

He reached out curiously and recognized it. Sam. The boy who woke him. The man that touched him. The other half of his other half.

He didn't know how long he was drained, asleep, but what he could feel told him enough. Hope was just the tiniest flicker, held prisoner of the same gripping love that held on to Dean's for so long. This love that now lived in Sam only because it chose to, even though there was almost no room for it any more.  
Everything that used to be, that made Sam so strong and powerful in many ways, was swallowed by pain. Every feeling and every thought, every impulse and tiny nerve, they were all rubbed raw until they could no longer stop bleeding, and that's how they lived.

Sam was convinced he was moving on. Sam was dying.

He lent some of his power to the quivering love, but when it grew it almost choked under the pain, so he stopped. He only helped it if he felt it going weaker, fed it with pictures and memories, listened to it when it wept.

He couldn't tell it why he wanted it to live, and it never asked, but it never released the hope from its prison-like grip either.  
The universe forgave him long time ago, perhaps understanding more than he thought it did, and now he heard whispers, sometimes promises, and he held a bit of his own hope.

**

Sam's love was careful, hiding behind the pain, until he was between two hearts again, because Dean was touching Sam and Dean's own love came to Sam's and now _it_ was the one doing the grabbing and pulling.

It held Sam's love like a mother holds a child, gently, like it could break any moment, and they released the hope together, so they could all grow again and slowly conquer the pain.

But he heard the false words Sam was saying, and knew Dean was broken like never before, and he wondered if the two loves would be enough this time.

When he was given back to Dean he was prepared for the ruins he would find inside, and wasn't surprised. But he didn't expect the silence that greeted him. Everything was bent in fear and insecurity.

**

It was like feeling spring unfold. Days and weeks and months came and went slowly, and every day was a birth of a new emotion, healing of an old one. In Sam as much as in Dean.

Some days it was the good ones. Joy, kindness, friendship, gentleness. Other days it was anger, annoyance, frustration. And they were all welcomed with equal relief and cheer. They were all what made the men whole.  
He let his power touch each new emotion, in both men, whenever he could, making them stronger, closer to the universe, maybe protected.

One day Dean turned and Sam's lips bumped against his.

He felt a nudge from the loves, and their plea. He sent a surge of power to the timid, unsure lust, in both men. As it grew, and the men came closer together, the loves gave him a grateful caress and wrapped around each other, ready to enjoy what was coming.

There was no wild reaction this time, just all these new and healed emotions aligning together and twisting into each other irrevocably. Like millions of tiny lightnings, binding them together. The loss was still so fresh and hope barely mended, but they were trying again, taking while they could and praying that this time, against all odds, it would last.


End file.
